


Bite the Bullet

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Don't Try This At Home, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gun play, M/M, Masturbation, Military Kink, Pining, Safer Sex, anal penetration, improper use of a firearm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course there wasn’t anything normal about the way Sherlock and John finally got together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite the Bullet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/gifts).



> First of all, Happy Birthday, Mer!
> 
> Secondly, thanks to jaimistoryteller for reading this over.
> 
> This can be viewed as a sequel to Stealing is a Serious Offense, but you don't have to have read that first.
> 
> Obviously gunplay is dangerous. We should all know better. I'm not suggesting anyone try this. As Amy said at the kink panel at 221bcon 2018, "The back button is your safeword".
> 
> A few further warnings:  
> If guns bother you, you shouldn't be here.
> 
> I usually write lots of negotiation and rules and limits and at least discussions. This is not that fic. 
> 
> If Sherlock fooling around with a live weapon is going to freak you out, don’t read this. 
> 
> If fluffy feels are going to ruin your gunplay experience, then back away.
> 
> If that all sounds like a fun wild ride then join me and read on...

John had been certain he left it out. Too exhausted to clean it when they’d gotten home. Bone tired and calm in a way he hated to admit. 

Most people would be jittery after having shot a man. At least upset. But John had seen too much of war to be most people anymore. Now he only felt a transcendent calm. The man got exactly what he’d deserved, with a fair measure of mercy besides. He tried to rob the world of Sherlock Holmes. He should count himself lucky that John only aimed for his arm. 

He’d hardly slept in days and eaten only enough to keep up with Sherlock. So, as the sense of a job completed and well done sunk into his bones and he prepared to clean up, the rest of the case caught up with him.He’d barely laid everything out when his eyes began to droop. He looked it over and with a decisive nod knew it would keep till morning.

Now it was morning. The kit, at least, was still there. Had he gotten up in the night? Actually cleaned it and put it away on autopilot? Put it away in the bottom drawer of his dresser before falling into bed again? It wouldn’t be the first time, but he was reasonably sure he hadn’t. On those few occasions he’d put everything away again and only knew about his somnambulism, because Sherlock had seen it. Which meant…

“Sherlock? Have you seen my gun?”

\---

Sherlock hadn’t done it frequently, not with a real gun at any rate, and certainly not with John’s piece that he often carried and lovingly maintained. But once he _had_ nicked John’s weapon the first time, he knew he would do it again and again. It fueled all of his fantasies to hold this weapon in particular. 

_John’s_

He had only done it three times before tonight and two of those John had arrived home before he was finished cleaning up. 

The first time, he had been able to sneak it back into John’s drawer without any trouble. 

The second time, he had kicked it under his bed and put it away later, somehow managing to convince John that he hadn’t been able to find it because he’d just put it in the wrong drawer.

The last time was a much closer thing and he thought John had found him out for sure. Sherlock had just finished and all over the gun no less. Thankfully he’d been standing with his back to the door where John couldn’t observe any other evidence of his activities. He sat abruptly in the chair at the small table in the corner of his bedroom where he had various bottles and jars of household products from cleaning solutions to condiments laid out. They were for an experiment, just not this one, but he always had a gift for improvisation. Testing how various compounds affected the ability to retrieve fingerprints from a firearm sounded believable. It was a very good idea and he should actually investigate it sometime. Instead, he had managed to wave John off with the promise that he wasn’t using anything that would damage the weapon and he’d clean it thoroughly before he returned it.

That had been too close and since then, months had passed since he’d allowed himself to entertain the thought of stealing it again. He had never taken it while John was home before tonight, but the case had taken a lot out of them and perhaps he wasn’t thinking quite as clearly as he ought to have been. 

It had been an age since he’d eaten and several days since he’d slept. He was high on adrenaline and the chemical cocktail released with the thrill of the chase and capture of their quarry. Especially keen when John was as dauntless in a foot pursuit, and in his defense of Sherlock, as he had been tonight. 

It hadn’t been the first time he’d saved Sherlock’s life. Far from it. But somehow this had struck a different cord. They had been pursuing the three smugglers, two of whom were too stupid to do anything more than follow their leader. Perfect, really, since if either of them had thought for a moment, they could have split up and at least one might have escaped. Oh they would have caught up with him eventually, of that Sherlock was sure, but they hadn’t even made it as far as escape. As it was, all three darted down the same dim alley, one that to their surprise dead ended into a large brick building. Unfortunately cornered as they were, one of them decided to draw his gun on Sherlock and would have shot him if it weren’t for John. Steadfast and ready, John got off a shot to the felon’s arm before the fool had even managed to cock the hammer. 

The way John looked at him as the smuggler went down, Sherlock thought for the briefest moment, just then, that the careful wall that kept them as friends and flatmates, and nothing more, might dissolve. That his feelings might be returned in full.

Instead, the tension was broken as Lestrade and his men arrived, arresting the culprits and getting medical attention for the wounded man. Sherlock and John made their statements briefly and went home. 

Sherlock had settled in his chair with anticipation, dressing gown draped loosely around him in case his body took more than a passing interest in the proceedings. Ostensibly he was sorting the details of the case in his mind palace, as John was used to him doing, but honestly he was far more interested in surreptitiously watching John handle his weapon again. John usually checked his gun before storing it after he’d taken it on a case. Any number of things could get into the delicate mechanisms and his time in the service had shown him just how important it was to have everything in perfect order when you needed it and so he took good care of it. But John had actually fired it this time. That meant the longer ritual of cleaning and oiling it, always careful and efficient

It wasn’t just the gun. It was never just about the gun, though Sherlock could hardly deny that kink even if he were ashamed of it. Which he wasn’t. It was more the way John managed each step with precision and speed, the economical strength of the soldier and his surgeon’s dexterity both serving him well. When he had to, Sherlock had seen John strip, check, and reassemble everything in at lightning speed. At home he generally took a bit more time and Sherlock relished the thought of watching. 

However, John had scarcely laid out his kit, before setting down the gun, muttering his goodnights and slipping off to bed. 

It had been a long week. John deserved his rest and yet...

Sherlock walked upstairs a few minutes later, not quite sure what he intended to do. _Thank John for saving him?_ He could almost picture just climbing into bed with him as though it was something they did. He wondered how John would react. When he arrived at John’s room, however, Sherlock could hear even through the door that John was already softly snoring. 

Back in the living room and too wired to sleep, Sherlock’s gaze fell on the gun lying on the table alongside the cleaning kit and was overcome. It was too much to resist and if he was honest he didn’t even try. 

He pictured John’s incandescent smile as the man went down, his immediate look to Sherlock to verify that he was safe. The way their eyes had locked. Sherlock reached out and ran his fingers lightly over the weapon, allowing himself to imagine that the muzzle was still warm. 

John had saved his life tonight. With this very weapon. The thought was heady and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting his fingers dance over the cool metal before picking it up and carrying it to his bedroom.

\---  
Sherlock dropped the gun onto his bed and stripped. He spread himself out over his bed and retrieved the gun, laying back and trailing it lightly over his lips, down his chest, his stomach, his hard prick. He usually had some fantasy or other, frequently involving Captain Watson or some other military authority, but tonight all he needed were the images of his beloved John in action. He wrapped his other hand around his cock, sliding the foreskin back. He was leaking enough that he didn’t need anything else to ease his way and gave himself a long pull, sending waves of pleasure skittering up his spine. It didn’t take long, the gun pressed against his throat and his hand moving fast. When his orgasm ripped through him, painting his stomach with ribbons of white, he bit his lip hard to hold back the shout that threatened to wrench free. 

He sank back against the pillows, boneless and utterly exhausted. He couldn’t have gotten up if he’d wanted to, falling asleep still covered in come, his long fingers wrapped around the handgrip of John’s weapon.

Once was usually plenty to relegate his bodily urges back to mere transport, simple and ignorable, for at least a week. Sometimes longer. Not this time. When he awoke, feeling the rough texture of the warm metal beneath his fingers, he went from merely tumescent to achingly hard in seconds. He wrapped his hand around his cock and gave himself a pull, twisting his palm up over the head as he drew the gun lightly down his cheek, nostrils flaring at the sharp tang of gun oil and the acrid burnt powder. He shivered as a fresh wave of arousal hit him. 

The barrel was cold, in contrast with the grip that had stayed warm in his hand. 

He twisted forward, right leg bending up as he spread his legs wider. He fumbled on the bedside table for the slick he hadn’t bothered with the night before and thumbed the cap. He deftly turned the bottle in his hand and squeezed what he needed out into his hand in one smooth motion before tossing it aside.  
.  
“John,” Sherlock moaned, then brought the barrel up to his lips, tongue flicking out over the grooves and ridges of the hard steel as he began fingering himself open, adding a second finger almost at once.

Then Sherlock froze. 

\--  
John turned the knob on Sherlock’s door and slowly opened it. He usually knocked, but Sherlock hadn’t thrown the bolt either and had certainly barged into his rooms often enough. Sometimes much earlier in the day than this.

“Sherlock, did you hear…” was all John managed to get out, because the next moment took his breath away. Once the door swung open, he was getting an eyeful of more Sherlock Holmes than he had ever imagined truly seeing. Not that he hadn’t entertained the idea, he just never thought it would happen. He’d told himself that Sherlock wasn’t… he didn’t feel things that way, didn’t need… but clearly John had been very, very wrong. 

He took in the rumpled sheets, the wild hair, the heavy musk of sweat and arousal, and in Sherlock’s hand, the gun John was looking for. 

Just as the door swung, Sherlock breathed, “John,” so softly that John himself would never have heard it if he hadn’t pressed the door open at precisely that moment. 

Nearly at the same time, at the sound of John’s voice and the door, Sherlock’s eyes flew open, and he otherwise stilled completely, two of his fingers still deep in his arse. Paralyzed with the shock of being walked in on, it seemed. In fact, neither one had moved a muscle in the long moment since John walked in.

Then John licked his lips. Sherlock recognised the gesture as John’s tell for when he was nervous or aroused, usually both, and allowed himself to take a shallow breath. 

John was the first to break their silence. “Christ,” he whispered, stepping into the room and taking in the scene before him. He took a deep breath and added, “You stole my gun,” more than a little surprised at the quiet confidence in his own voice.

Sherlock nodded, wide eyed and, for once, silent. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe, let alone speak. 

John had never imagined Sherlock got up to anything like this. “Jesus, look at you,” his voice rough with lust. 

Though he would hardly have admitted it later, Sherlock felt the heat of blood rushing to his cheeks as he colored slightly. Of all the scenarios he had ever considered, he had never imagined that John might react to finding out that Sherlock stole his gun and why, by becoming instantly aroused. He’d barely dared to hope that John wouldn’t want to move out. 

“Keep going,” John said, wrapping his fingers around the barrel and easing the gun from Sherlock’s hand. His voice took on a more commanding tone as he added, “That’s an order, Holmes,” hoping the military style of address would suit whatever was going on in Sherlock’s head. 

Sherlock’s eyes opened even wider for a second before he managed to comply, his fingers sliding in and out greedily as he began to open himself up once more. 

“You like playing dangerous games, private? We can do that, but you have to do just as I say. You can handle that, can’t you, Holmes?

Sherlock nodded solemnly.

“You may speak, Private.”

Sherlock swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I can handle that, sir.”

“Good. Close your eyes”

Sherlock complied and John took a steadying breath and a moment to look over his gun. The safety was in place, but he whispered a soft curse when he noted that Sherlock has left the clip in place. As quietly as he could, he slid it out and set it aside. He hoped Sherlock hadn’t noticed if that was part of his… whatever this was, but he wouldn’t play with live rounds. He was out of his depth with this, but that was nothing new with Sherlock, and he was harder than he’d been in ages. Possibly ever. 

Sherlock groaned as John dragged the gun up his torso, settling it against his chest.. “Open them,” John directed.

John met his eyes and dropped his hand to his own flies. “Alright?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock said immediately, his gaze hungry.

John gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and slid out of his trousers, dragging his pants down with them. He palmed his aching cock.

“Now you are going to take care of me and I won’t report your filthy, unbecoming conduct to anyone higher up.” 

“Yes, sir.” Sherlock tried to lean forward, but John’s gun hand didn’t budge, keeping him pinned. 

“Not yet,” he said, letting up. “Condoms?” 

Sherlock pointed at the bedside table. “Top drawer, sir.”

John grabbed a couple, putting one on and dropping the other onto the bed by his side.

He guided Sherlock to lay sideways on the bed, head tipped over the side. Sherlock opened his mouth and reached for John. 

John dragged the barrel over Sherlock’s cock as he slid between his plush lips and Sherlock whimpered around him. He would have sounded frightened if not belied by the way his hips bucked up into the sensation. 

Sherlock swallowed John greedily, bobbing as much as the position would allow. John thrust shallowly, careful not to gag him at first, gauging how he liked it.. 

John set the gun down just long enough to slick his fingers, picking up where Sherlock had left off. He was warm and already so slick and open. John slid two fingers in easily and added a third, stretching Sherlock further while he moaned around John’s cock. 

“Fuck,” John bit out, rocking his hips as Sherlock swallowed around him. “That’s it.” 

When he gauged Sherlock was ready, John opened the second condom with his teeth. Bracing the butt of the gun against his stomach, he worked the condom down over the barrel. He know it was a crazy thought, but he was more than certain how Sherlock would react. He slid his hand up and down the barrel, testing anywhere he’s have to be especially careful. If he went slow, it would be fine. 

He thrust deeper into Sherlock’s mouth and leant forward to press the blunt muzzle of the gun against Sherlock’s fluttering hole and pushed gently, watching in rapt fascination as Sherlock took it in. 

John thrust it in and out minutely, mindful of the hard metal, and that’s all it took. 

Sherlock’s whole body stiffened then shuddered. He sucked John harder as he came and John followed him over, overcome by the sensation of Sherlock around him and the heady power of it all.

After a moment, John pulled out and rolled off Sherlock, and eased the gun out. They rearranged themselves.

Sherlock looked at him through half lidded lashes. “I can’t believe you just… that we...”

John shook his head and said, “Me, either.”

“It was… all right, though?

“More than. That was incredible.” He paused for a moment, brushing a curl back from Sherlock’s forehead. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Sherlock said, trying to bring his breathing back to normal. “Wonderful, actually,” he amended with a smile that looked almost shy.

John leant forward then cupping Sherlock’s jaw. He moved slowly, giving Sherlock time to back away if this wasn’t something he wanted, then he kissed him.

Far from backing off, Sherlock leant into him, deepening their kiss. His lips were even softer than John had imagined.

John felt his cock give a gentle twitch as though trying to get hard again already. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, “Really? You’re remarkably proficient with it, but in all the times I watched you with your gun it never seemed like a fetish for you.”

John laughed softly. “Kiss you. I’ve always wanted to kiss you. I never thought of doing that with a gun before in my life. Although now that I have, I may never look at it the same way again.” He licked his lips and gave a curious lopsided grin.

“Well, you can do either again any time you’d like,” Sherlock grinned back at him, before leaning in for another kiss. 

They should get cleaned up, but it was nice just lying there together. 

Then Lestrade rang and Sherlock answered. Of course he bloody well did. And then they were off, showering and throwing on clothes so fast it was dizzying. On the taxi ride to the crime scene, John smiled. He’d been so worried that Sherlock wouldn’t be interested or that if anything shifted they’d lose what they had. But as Sherlock slipped his hand into John’s, he knew better. It would always be the two of them together, just in more ways than before.


End file.
